


It Knows (He Will Not)

by orphan_account



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Depression, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Sleep Deprivation, The Adventure Zone: Balance, The Voidfish POV, avi is a good boyfriend, damn these tags gdhdhdj, johann is so tired let the boy sleep, teeny bit of spoilers for taz:b, vf cares...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 07:05:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18686542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This is his job. This is his life. There is no room for error, no place for past wishes, no time to dwell on what life would be like if he had just been given the chance to live it.He doesn't have the energy. He doesn't have the will.The composition is done anyway, and the fish is hungry.





	It Knows (He Will Not)

**Author's Note:**

> hewwo it's sam, crawling outta the ether to cough up some overdue content...  
> taz has been on my to-do writing list for. Ages. because i absolutely adore taz:b and the mcelroys and I've always wanted to pay my respects to the incredible story that makes up the balance campaign and got me back into storytelling again,, so what better way to get that kicked off than with uhhh the most edgy thing I think I've ever written what???  
> anyways take my boys!! some of my favorite boys!! my baby baby boys that deserve the world!! god bless!!

It has been another long night, and his hand is tired. In actuality, his entire _arm_ is tired- but at this point he really only feels the ache in his wrist, where it’s bound to stay for the next two days. He knows enough about this now to expect it before he even works himself that hard, but it's not like he has much choice.

The composition is done anyway, and the fish is hungry.

Everyone else has gone to bed, even the guards always standing watch at the door. He's memorized their shifts by now- enough to know that they retire at midnight, and it's been at least two hours since then if his internal clock still functioned as it should. He wouldn't know. Living on the moon probably messed with more bodily functions than necessary. There was always room for error.

The fish hums in the tank, watching him rise from the chair with invisible eyes. He's not quite sure how it senses anything about its surroundings other than by feel; the entire entity itself is a mystery, but the fish had always been nice to him, he supposed. The familiar trill of notes- an E, followed by two G’s in succession- sings brightly at him, as if the creature isn't aware of the sleeping world outside their chamber. Maybe it isn't. Maybe it is.

His hands fumble with the papers, eyes dull, arms and shoulders feeling like lead weights. He can’t remember the last time he got a good night’s sleep. The fish hums at him again, quieter, noticing his discomfort. One finger slips and the edge of the parchment slices through the skin on the knuckle of his ring finger. He mumbles a curse under his breath and presses the cut to his lips, knowing the fish doesn't like blood. Neither does he. His nose scrunches up at the metallic taste, but he steps forward with the composition anyway.

“Sorry it took so long,” He mutters to the tank, voice too loud in the relative quiet of the empty room. “Not sure what my problem is this week.” He's not sure whether or not the fish understands him, even after all this time. He's forgotten the point of talking to it either way- maybe just to hear himself speak, to remind himself he's still alive. Or maybe in some distant way the fish understands, or hears, or something; regardless it hums its trademark trill of notes, swirling close to the glass as he steps toward the tank.

He sniffs, lowering himself onto a knee as his free hand reaches out for the latch on the bottom of the tank. He fumbles with the clasp for a second, arms drooping. It feels like a weight has settled across his shoulders, pressing down onto him, tugging at his body. He shrugs it off, popping open the hatch and pushing the papers through the slot.

For a moment he hesitates. He does it every time; predictable, stupid. It doesn't mean anything. He knew when he signed up for the job about the repercussions that came alongside it.

The fish hums, despondent, pressing itself against the tank, one tentacle pushing against the glass near his head. It jerks him out of his daze, fingers quickly closing the hatch and pressing the little red button. The cut on his knuckle starts to bleed again. “Sorry. Don't know what’s gotten into me.”

The papers float up from the bottom of the tank, suspended in the liquid inside, shimmering tendrils curling around his work. And then it’s gone- sucked up inside the entity that is the Voidfish, dissolved, consumed. He will be the only one to remember it; the one that it matters most to.

He will never play it in front of anyone, and no one will know it existed. Because they shouldn't. And they won't. Because they don't know him. And they don't know his work, or his job, or his name. He is not real. He is a phantom, a mirage, an illusion. The moon is the only place that is safe for him anymore.

As much as he envies the Reclaimers, a part of him knows he'd never be able to go back down there. He wouldn't be able to handle it.

His body succumbs to the weight. His head slumps forward and his hat falls to the side and he heaves something of a sob- oh _Istus_ , it’s been a long time since he's cried.

His forehead presses against the glass, shoulders shaking, hands trembling in his lap from where he kneels to the one thing that has singlehandedly consumed his life. His head hurts in that way it does when your senses are consumed by your tears, and his stomach revolts against the sudden emotion. He hasn't eaten in three days. He feels like throwing up.

The Voidfish is quiet while he cries, motionless in its tank. Its tentacles curl and drift aimlessly in the water, but he can feel its attention on him. He feels small. Tears trickle down his cheeks and splash against the smooth tiled surface of the floor, finger still bleeding, spots of red dripping down to diffuse into the sorrow that has pooled beneath him.

He's not sure how long he's there before the door at the end of the chamber opens, a quiet squeak of the hinges the only audible noise to give it away. He's drifted into this limbo-like state, hunched against the base of the tank, eyes closed, chest still heaving and body still trembling even if there are no tears left to cry. He doesn't have to look up, doesn't have to move at all when two strong arms lift him off the ground. He sniffles but doesn't make a sound, finger throbbing. He needs to bandage the cut.

“Come on.” The voice whispers to him, soft lips and gentle stubble pressed against the tear tracks on his right cheek. “Time for bed.”

He’s out like a light before they even leave the chamber, the fish silent as it watches them go. The strong-armed man is gentle with its composer as a lover should be, holding him kindly, whispering to him sweetly in his slumber. The fish is quiet even as the strong-armed man carries him out the doors of the chamber, watching.

The fish likes to imagine things will be different later. The fish likes to imagine that its composer might find a happy ending, despite it all.

  
_But it knows he will not._

 

 


End file.
